


Dance Practice

by Cyan (vehicroids)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehicroids/pseuds/Cyan
Summary: Catching up with Linhardt doesn't exactly go as planned.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 119





	Dance Practice

It's Byleth's idea to get tea.

He'd gotten Linhardt's favourite, (according to Caspar): angelica. It's not the easiest blend to buy, but it's surprisingly cheap, especially for a noble like Linhardt. Byleth shrugs it off and swaps his money for the tea. He thinks it's a nice thing to do for his ex-student-turned-ally. In these times of war, a treat is welcome.

It's an effort to tear Linhardt from his bed long enough to come out to tea, but he does eventually. It's a nice afternoon, perfect for tea. Perfect for a nap straight after tea as well, apparently, though Byleth chooses to ignore that fact. He pours Linhardt a cup of tea, taking great care to pour it the polite way rather than like the mercenary he is.

Linhardt takes the cup in his hand, and his face lights up when he inhales the aroma. Byleth admires his expression for a beat too long, before catching himself. That's probably inappropriate, isn't it?

"How did you know this was my favourite?" Linhardt asks with a smile, bringing the cup to his lips.

"I asked Caspar," Byleth admits somewhat reluctantly.

"I do appreciate the effort, Professor," Linhardt says, "but I think the leaves are stale."

Dammit. At least he tried. He holds his cup between his hands, the warmth of the tea seeping through his gloves. Looming at the drink now, it does look a little off.

"Don't worry about it, Professor. I'm just happy to have a cup of tea," he says.

Byleth looks back to Linhardt, who is staring at him rather intently. Even in five years, there are some things about Linhardt that would never change. Byleth is waiting for him to beg to analyse his Crest once more, or some kind of other inappropriate question. Byleth is used to Linhardt's stranger qualities.

"Have I missed anything important?" Byleth asks.

Linhardt shakes his head. "I'm sure we've covered everything you need to know."

"I meant with you."

"Oh." Linhardt puts his cup down. "There isn't anything new with me, I'm afraid. My research is stuck thanks to this war, and I can't see things changing. But if you let me-"

"Linhardt."

He sighs. "Yes, yes, I know. It was worth asking."

Nothing ever seems to discourage Linhardt from research, not even a no. Coming from anyone else, Byleth would be annoyed, but it's Linhardt. He's even come to appreciate the man's quirks.

"I'm more proficient in healing these days, but I've worked on other skills in the meantime," Linhardt continues, sipping on his tea.

"Such as?" Byleth asks.

"Dancing."

Byleth raises an eyebrow. He'll admit that choice to make Linhardt represent the Black Eagles class wasn't his best idea. He remembers Linhardt's lack of interest all too well, but at the time, Byleth thought it was the right choice. Linhardt was charmless when he opened his mouth, but he was a natural at dancing.

Once he won, Linhardt's complaints stopped. Byleth didn't realise he would keep up his training through the years. Linhardt smiles at him, amused.

"I thought dancing took away your nap time," Byleth says.

"Yes, but I've realised how useful a skill it can be," Linhardt says. "Actually, Professor, would you like to see how my dance improved during these years?"

Byleth almost chokes on his tea, but he quickly regains his composure. Linhardt is still smiling at him, one hand tucked under his chin as he watches Byleth. The words catch in Byleth's throat and mutely, he nods.

"Good, then give me a minute to get changed."

With that, Byleth is left by himself in the courtyard as Linhardt runs off to his room. Byleth didn't realise this was going to be such a spectacle; all he wanted was a nice tea party. He can admit to himself he is curious to see if Linhardt really has improved, though. It should be entertaining if nothing else. Byleth picks at a cake while he waits. Even in five years, Linhardt hasn't changed one bit.

That train of thought is quickly stopped when he hears footsteps behind him.

He looks over his shoulder and finds Linhardt standing there, clad in a forest green outfit. The outfit is familiar - the standard issue for dancers - but a little more revealing than Byleth ever remembers it being. It shows off Linhardt's frame, and Byleth's eyes wander. It doesn't leave much to the imagination. Byleth forces himself to look up to Linhardt's face. He has a smug smile on his face - he knows what he's doing.

Good grief, is the sun more intense now, or is it just Byleth?

"I don't think that's the outfit you were given," Byleth says. His voice is a pitch too high, and he sees the corner of Linhardt's mouth twitch.

"Not exactly, no, but it does the job better, I've noticed. Let me show you what I mean."

Byleth would normally argue against going into battle half-naked, but his brain is a stagnant puddle on the floor at the moment. He forces his eyes on Linhardt's face, though he knows it's futile.

He leans back in his seat as Linhardt starts his routine, comfortable. Byleth is amazed that he'd stuck to something for so long, especially something so active. Linhardt is more graceful than Byleth imagined, and light on his feet. The sheer fabric fans out around him as he twirls, catching the light in just the right way.

Byleth swallows hard. When did Linhardt get so pretty?

The world around them doesn't matter; Byleth almost forgets they're still in Garreg Mach. He's starting to understand those stories of men going to war for the love of a beautiful woman. Byleth needs to get a hold of himself.

Linhardt doesn't take his eyes off Byleth, either, those deep blue eyes setting his body alight. Byleth's gaze keeps falling into places it shouldn't, trailing from Linhardt's exposed legs to too far up. Has Linhardt always been so attractive, or were the years especially kind to him? Byleth tries to swipe his cup of tea to wet his throat but ends up knocking it over and leaving a mess on the table. He still doesn't look away. Linhardt lets out a laugh.

"Is something the matter?" he asks, and Byleth shakes his head. Linhardt pauses his dance for a moment. "Ah yes, I wanted to ask: how good of a dancer are you?"

Byleth pauses at the question. It takes a moment too long for his brain to think. "Not very?"

"What a shame. Perhaps I should teach you."

Linhardt holds out his hand. Byleth doesn't hesitate to take it.

Linhardt is stronger than he looks as he tugs Byleth to his feet - either that, or Byleth is simply that entranced by him. He doesn't care to understand which. His free hand falls on Linhardt's waist, the other remains in his hand. Byleth allows himself to be led through the dance as Linhardt presses against him. The air is forced from Byleth's lungs and he swallows hard. Linhardt has always been forward, but never quite like this. He looks all too pleased with himself as he pulls Byleth's face closer, their lips barely an inch apart.

Linhardt's breath is hot against his face, and Byleth swears he is stealing his breath. His dark eyes are half-lidded, that smirk on his face indelible. Byleth hates how much he's into this, and he hates how he's driven solely by some primal need that scratches him from within.

But if he truly minded, he wouldn't let Linhardt toy with him.

"Well?" Linhardt asks - his voice is barely audible. "Have I improved?"

It wasn't even a question; Linhardt had improved immensely in the past five years. The sleepy, lazy young man had grown into something else entirely - Byleth really had missed a lot.

"You have," he says.

"Then I suppose those naps I sacrificed to practice were not in vain," Linhardt says.

Byleth shakes his head; it's always about naps with him, isn't it? "I'm impressed."

"I was hoping more for enticed than impressed, but I can call that a victory," he shrugs.

Byleth wants to shake himself. Of course Linhardt is flirting; this is little more than a mating dance, yet it went right over Byleth's head. It's not the first time matters of the heart elude Byleth, but he still feels dense.

"Then I'm both," Byleth says.

Linhardt chuckles. "Oh, I know."

He's the one who closes the gap between their lips to barely brush his lips against Byleth's. Linhardt's lips are soft, surprisingly so. He pulls away, only for Byleth to pull him back in. He tucks his hand under Linhardt's jaw as he strokes his thumb against his cheek. He's not sure how any of this happened, but he's not about to complain.

"Well," Linhardt gasps against his lips. "It certainly took us long enough to do this."

Byleth's breath hitches as Linhardt presses their lips together, this time far more needy. Linhardt holds him at his lower back before guiding Byleth to the nearby table. Without hesitation, he lifts Linhardt onto it, sending the porcelain crashing to the floor. Neither of them register the sound, too engrossed in each other to care. An army could crash through, and neither of them would notice.

Byleth buries his face in Linhardt's neck, placing tiny kisses on his skin. He grips the hair at the base of Byleth's head as he rolls his head back, letting out a contented moan. Everything about this man is intoxicating to Byleth, from the softness of his skin to the sound of his voice.

Byleth's hands are all over him; the thin fabric doesn't allow Linhardt much protection. His skin raises in goosebumps as he shudders. Every light brush of Byleth's fingers, every kiss elicits a new noise from Linhardt, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

"If we're going to continue like this, should we not go somewhere more private?" Linhardt asks between breaths.

The answer stumbles from Byleth's mouth without thought. "No. Let's stay here."

" _ Oh _ ," Linhardt chuckles. "Well, if you insist, Byleth."

His name is a purr, and he takes a second to collect himself. It's been a while since anyone has used his name. It sends a jolt up his spine, and he pulls away to look at Linhardt.

"Say that again."

Linhardt smiles oh so sweetly. "If you insist, Byleth."

Byleth lets out a low groan before his mouth is on Linhardt's neck again, trailing kisses and nips to his throat. He can feel every rumble of Linhardt's moans and he can hear every heavy breath, and that only drives Byleth further. He slides his hands against Linhardt's thighs, before leaving them to rest right by his hips. Linhardt tugs at his clothes impatiently as he tries to search for some kind of fastening.

Byleth hurriedly peels off pulls off his unnecessary layers of clothing, and they land in a pool around his ankles. His hands are back on Linhardt, cupping his ass and bringing him closer to the edge of the table. Linhardt slides his knee in between Byleth's legs. A moan escapes his mouth, and Linhardt smiles, before pulling him in for another kiss.

Byleth could get used to this side of Linhardt.

Linhardt rubs his leg on Byleth's crotch, and his knees almost buckle. He's so turned on that it hurts, and they both know it. He hooks his thumbs into Linhardt's bottoms, pulling them down slowly. Byleth's half expecting Linhardt to pull away, to reveal this is all some kind of joke. He doesn't. He pulls Byleth closer instead. Well, if he's really into this…

Byleth pulls the bottoms down past Linhardt's knees until they fall at his ankles. Linhardt is already hard. Byleth wraps his hand around the erection, giving it slow, steady strokes, and Linhardt melts. He sits his hands on Byleth's waist, moving them to the fastening of his pants. With barely a tug, the strap comes apart, and Linhardt slips his hand in. His hand is soft, untouched by the ravages of war - it's refreshing in the best possible way.

"I'd ask how much you want me, but I can take an educated guess," Linhardt hums.

He's such a little shit, but his hand is like magic; it's hard to stay mad at him. Byleth rubs his thumb over the tip of Linhardt's dick and he jerks his hips. He keeps stroking, watching Linhardt's reaction. His eyes are closed, and he's making no effort to hide his moans. Honestly, it's like he wants to be caught. Maybe Byleth wouldn't mind that, either.

Linhardt leans in closer, his breath warm against Byleth's ear. "I really don't want to wait anymore."

Byleth nods. Linhardt helps him out of his pants fully - along with the undergarments - and pulls out a vial of oil. Byleth should ask where he got that from, but he's not sure how much he cares, not when he's this turned on. He's just glad it's there. He takes it gratefully before applying some to his fingers. Linhardt spreads his legs a little wider for him, looking far too pleased with himself. Byleth doesn't care right now.

One hand sits on Linhardt's thigh, the other slicked with oil, a finger pressed against him. He swallows thickly before nodding, shifting into a better position. Byleth eases in a finger and watches Linhardt's face. He gasps quietly, but doesn't ask Byleth to stop. He licks his lips as he thrusts his finger inside Linhardt, soon adding a second finger. The response is a loud groan as Linhardt arches his back. Byleth covers his mouth.

"We're still outside," he reminds him.

The reminder doesn't discourage Linhardt, who moans with every curl of Byleth's fingers. He wraps a hand around his neglected dick, stroking in time with the fingers. Linhardt's moans are quiet, breathy noises, and Byleth can't get enough of them. He works his fingers inside him, scissoring and stretching him out. Byleth can't wait anymore. He pulls out his fingers, earning a whine from the other man, and instead readies himself.

He presses himself against Linhardt, pausing for a brief moment. Linhardt nods, and Byleth eases himself inside. Linhardt tenses, his eyes fluttering shut, but he soon relaxes. He drapes his arms around Byleth's shoulders and pulls him closer, until their chests are pressed against each other. Byleth tightens his grip on his hips, easing himself in fully. Linhardt lets out a noise between a sigh and a groan. He looks at Byleth from under his eyelashes. He's damn pretty, and he knows it.

Byleth sets a slow pace to start with. His breathing is already uneven, desperation already about to push him beyond the edge. He pulls Linhardt's hair back, trailing kisses along his throat. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," Linhardt whispers.

"I know," Byleth mumbles against his skin.

"Then don't be so gentle. I'll be fine."

Byleth nods, before thrusting harder into him. Linhardt arches his back, his chest flush against Byleth's. He wants nothing more than to pull off the remaining bits of fabric between them, to feel Linhardt's skin against his, but this would have to do. He holds his hand against Linhardt's lower back, the other opening his legs wider. The noise he makes in response is  _ divine _ .

He catches Byleth's lips in his own and moans into the kiss. It drives Byleth wild, increasing the speed of his thrusts. His partner slams his hips against his own, skin slapping against skin. Byleth shudders as he buries his face in Linhardt's neck. He can feel the rumble in Linhardt's throat with every breathy moan and every swallow. His skin is misted with sweat and his skin is raised in goosebumps.

"Byleth," he groans.

There's something about his name on Linhardt's tongue that makes his stomach clench. He wraps his arms around Linhardt's torso and holds him tight. He loses his rhythm quickly, fucking Linhardt without restraint. Linhardt moans in his ear as his voice raises an octave higher. Every sound that comes out of him pushes Byleth and makes him want  _ more _ .

With a final thrust, Byleth reaches his limit. He moans into Linhardt's neck, shuddering. It doesn't take long to bring Linhardt to his edge; a few pumps of Byleth's hand and he's gone, sinking against Byleth. They're both left pressed against each other, spent and out of breath. As Byleth comes down from his high, he realises the gravity of the situation. He pulls away, but Linhardt remains slumped against him.

"Are you already asleep?" Byleth sighs.

The lack of a response is enough for him. They would have a lot to talk about when Linhardt eventually woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was suffering from art block for 2 months because I took my writer's block and singed it to the ground, so it turned into burn out. Yikes. Anyway so I came across [this art](https://hyakunana.tumblr.com/post/188891799148/professor-would-you-like-to-see-how-my-dance) (or [here](https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts/status/1192499794226360320) if you use Twitter) and I was like. Oh DAMN bc it's one of my fave Byhardt pieces. Then I got inspired to write based off this art, and it turned into Horny on Main and sdfghjhgfddghg I'm sorry. Anyway this seriously helped so thank you. Also turns out this artist drew my other fave Byhardt art. Go check them out pls!
> 
> This might seem a touch wonky bc I barely read the NSFW. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough
> 
> Bug me on [Tumblr](http://vehicroids.tumblr.com) || [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vehicroids) (seriously I need more Byhardt friends) (more active on Twitter tbh)


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